


Three Times a Wretch

by MasteroftheCrypticArts



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Nudity, POV First Person, Torture, implied sexual harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasteroftheCrypticArts/pseuds/MasteroftheCrypticArts
Summary: After having lost his magic, Doctor Strange embarks on a journey into space in search of magic-imbued artifacts in order to regain his power. After getting captured by the alien race inhabiting the planet Grynda, he endures seventy-three days of enslavement and torture. Inspired by Waid-Saiz's Sorcerer Supreme of the Galaxy, this work goes into greater detail about his detainment.





	Three Times a Wretch

I had been in many catastrophic, life-threatening situations during my career as the Sorcerer Supreme. Many of them, in the words of H.P. Lovecraft, being "beyond description." But the bind I was in now,... I was sure that I would die on the planet Grynda.   
  
The first night in my cell, I hoped like hell that Tony Stark would come for me. He was the only one who had the faintest clue of my whereabouts. He had to have built some tracking device into that ship he so generously lent me. (What would he say if/when he found out that I trashed it? It wasn't my fault but still... I could imagine the number of zeroes attached to that piece of high-tech machinery and it gave me indigestion.) We hadn't established a determinate length of my absence from Earth but he'd have to realize something was wrong when he stopped receiving correspondences from me. Or maybe another spacefarer I knew would breach the atmosphere of this planet.   
  
The following day I was immediately put to work. I got the _special_ privilege of being my keeper's lackey. The warden of my prison, a cretin whose name I would choke on my spit trying to pronounce, was fascinated by me. That day I met him, he told me to come close to where he sat. I hesitated. Got shocked by some kind of taser. I approached. He told me to kneel. I hesitated again but not long enough to get another prod. Setting down between the warden's knees was one of the scariest moments of my life. He did nothing but stare at me, hard and unwavering. When I looked away he ordered me to look at him. After a few moments of terror passed, I realized he was taking in my eyes. Gray irises must've been a novelty on Grynda. God knows they were where I came from.   
  
"What are you?" he asked me.   
  
"What?"   
  
"What race are you?"   
  
Apparently, Gryndans had never seen an _Earthling_ before.   
  
"...Human," I answered with reservation.   
  
" _Hyu-man_ ," he echoed.   
  
I was made to serve his every whim. My first task? Polish his shin guards. Or, I thought they were shin guards. I learned that they were actually prosthetics. I didn't ask how he lost his legs. I _did_ ask how it was possible to have a myoelectric prosthesis that stimulated total cellular regeneration— _how an artificial leg could regrow an organic one_. I got punished. A bit too severely for the offense, but that was only my opinion. From that point onward, I kept my head down. Carried out my duties. Avoided asking questions as much as possible. Didn't speak unless spoken to.   
  
What made the whole experience worse was that I could understand every word that was spoken in their foreign language. With the help of the universal translator implant Stark _also_ generously lent me, every insult got translated except for the select, untranslatable expressions. (I assumed those were Gryndan slurs.) I could communicate with the Gryndans yet they treated me like a beast of the field. I couldn't fathom how they could condescend to a life form clearly advanced enough to have mastered the development of speech.   
  
And then I remembered that we still treat gorillas and other primates like inferiors despite them being able to learn Sign Language.   
  
My hope for Tony Stark's deliverance died quickly, within days. I neither had a watch on me nor was my suit equipped with a clock that displayed Earth-Standard Time, but I intuited that days on Grynda were longer. I had a hard time adjusting. My circadian rhythm begrudged me. It didn't help that I was living off of a single, small stick of a dietary supplement every day. My stomach gnarled in frustration and at points my hunger pains were nauseating. But somehow, to my amazement, I learned that I hadn't been losing any weight. The only reason I learned this was because the Gryndans were a curious species. And invasive.   
  
The experiments began less than a week into my captivity. Gryndan scientists spared no expense for me. They took everything from memory to semen samples. They studied and experimented on me so profusely that I didn't think I would survive. They strengthened my physiological integrity with some strange injection that made death not only improbable but impossible. I learned about my body's newly attained enhancement after making an attempt that I'll always be ashamed of. I still don't know how they did it and I still don't know if my scientifically engineered immortality is permanent. But for all of the stunning feats the Gryndans evidently accomplished with technology, it seemed that they hadn't ever heard of anesthetic. That or they were sadists. Each night, after being dumped back in my cell, I would grasp at straws, desperate for escape. I pulled every bit of knowledge from the dusty corners of my mind, drew sigil after sigil with my piece of chalk (a token of reward from the warden), spoke incantation after incantation, but to no avail. Only my dreams brought me some semblance of comfort. Unless they included Clea.   
  
As the prolonged days passed on Grynda I wondered about socializing with the rest of the detainees in my block. I hardly ever got to have face-to-face interactions with other prisoners outside of my own cell (unless I was called to do work that required more than one set of hands) but I did have neighbors and I had become very lonely. At first, I abstained from establishing friendships with any fellow captives because I knew that emotional investments were unwise to make. The likelihood that I would have been able to keep any friends I made was slim to none. Still, I was human. I had needs. It had been a long time since I had a fully flushed conversation with anyone. About anything. Most of the other prisoners were Gryndans and trying to converse with them was tantamount to being a cat meowing for attention. I could understand these lawbreakers but they couldn't understand me. The only other prisoner who I could have an actual conversation with was a fellow named G'sdaf. I just called him "Gustav" because no matter how I tried, he said I mispronounced it. I could take the abrasive criticism. It was much less harsh than what I had been enduring and I was just happy that I wasn't the only inmate with a translation implant. G'sdaf didn't have a warm personality but given the circumstance he couldn't be blamed. He was incarcerated for the crime of loving someone.   
  
Indeed. _Love_ was illegal on Grynda. The Gryndans were _love_ rs of logic and reason, as befit their _love_ of science and engineering. Love was viewed as a disease. There was nothing "ceremonious" about relationships or unions on this planet. While it wasn't altogether illegal to love someone where I came from, I told G'sdaf that certain types of love were. G'sdaf shook his head. It was my sympathy for his plight that fostered the beginnings of a relatively pleasant relationship.   
  
We couldn't speak to each other much but we were fortunate to be able to work in close proximity on a regular basis. We helped each other when necessary and built camaraderie through licking our wounds together. G'sdaf didn't suffer the same torturous experimentations I did and demonstrated enough kindness to help me recover when able. Eventually, we reached a point where I almost graduated him from _acquaintanceship._   
  
Then he was executed. I learned that G'sdaf received capital punishment for the crime of loving some _thing_.   
  
My insides burned like hot coals that night. My stomach had been gouged into with a dozen piercing instruments and then healed with some kind of regenerative solution injected into me before I was thrown back into my solitary confinement. I writhed naked on the floor like a worm touched by vinegar. I screamed. Then the guard on duty sealed up my cell, essentially closing me inside of a reverberation chamber. I couldn't shout without piercing my own ears and I was forced to stifle my cries, until I shook like an epileptic in complete silence. Hours passed before the pain finally subsided. By then, I was an aching slump of a man. I lay there, throat sore, neck craned, eyes out the window of my cell.   
  
I was trapped millions of miles from home without hope, without dignity, and without a kindred spirit to call friend.


End file.
